It’s not glamorous.
There are boxes everywhere. Labels like “car box” and “bathroom in a box” and one that just says “to be determined.” The living room is a staging area. The desk is gone. The walls are bare. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Trish is folding laundry with surgical precision while Brian’s pile looks like it lost a fight.
This is what 22 days actually looks like.
Everything needs a ‘new address’
One of the things nobody tells you about leaving: the hardest part isn’t the big stuff. It’s that things don’t have a home anymore unless you tell them where to go.
The desk that lived in the office for years? Storage. The exercise bench? Fletcher and Jaden’s. The old vacuum? Going to Goodwill — with a new one to my son Mat, because new vacuums smell better than old ones and that’s just true.
Every single object in the house is in mid-sentence right now. It belongs somewhere. We just have to decide where.
What’s coming with us
Three suitcases. That’s it. At least for the month-and-a-half travel
Spring and summer clothes. Toiletries. Tech, cords, office supplies. Arts and crafts — because Trish is always going to need a place to sketch. A travel jewelry bag with little separators for whatever she decides to collect along the way.
I just finished my book, so the hard drive stays accessible until the last possible moment. (I still have to make the digital vesion
And one pair of brand new shoes — that don’t get worn until they set out for Germany. That’s my rule. New chapter, new shoes.
The things worth mentioning
The laptop bag I have been using — a Mystery Ranch backpack/sling combo that Matt and Wes gave me — gets a genuine unsolicited endorsement mid-walkthrough. Converts from backpack to sling. Magnetic latch. Multiple pockets. Turns out the boys know their dad well. (They have the BEST taste!)
The junk journal on the table isn’t coming. I am leaving it behind and starting a fresh one on the road. New pages for new places.
And Herschel — our dog — has a stuffed animal named Tyrone who needed some repairs. A patch on the face. A little heart on the booty. A new hole that Herschel helpfully started. The chaos of departure does not pause for stuffed animal surgery. You just do it on the kitchen table between boxes.
Coming together
It looks like chaos. It is chaos. But it’s purposeful chaos — and there’s a difference.
Most of it is moving. Most of the decisions are made. The boxes have labels. The suitcases have a plan. The new shoes are waiting.
22 days.
Watch the full Saturday walkthrough above — including the laundry folding comparison you did not ask for but absolutely need to see.
